


Hortensius

by flamingosarepink



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: AU in which Charles is an Art Dealer, Angst, Getting Back Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23878642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingosarepink/pseuds/flamingosarepink
Summary: “This arrived for you while you were out. The person who left it was very insistent that you receive it as soon as possible, regardless if you said no or not. He said it was important.” The desk attendant hands him the package with no hesitation yet with a careful air about the whole situation. Something about this whole situation seems highly suspect, and Pierre contemplates saying no without undoing the brown paper wrapping to see what lays beneath.
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28





	Hortensius

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Directionless_Foray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Directionless_Foray/gifts), [legolasass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/legolasass/gifts).

> This fic is what happens when I talk about art with my friends and look through auction catalogues late at night. A big thank you to my friends at the RDA, I love you all so much! Thank you for always supporting me.

_Pierre is staring blankly at Charles, seeing his mouth move but failing to hear the words coming out. This is just like all of the times before, when Charles comes home from a gallery showing smelling like smoke and people he shouldn't be with or waltzing in the next morning like nothing even happened. _

_This is last straw. _

_This is the last time._

_“You should go. Please leave.” He says simply, tone of voice empty of emotion. Pierre has spent too many times wondering if perhaps Charles’s wandering eyes was his fault, that maybe somehow he was the root of this confusing problem. That maybe he was stupid enough to let something like this go on under his nose the whole time. _

_“You’re not serious, are you?” Charles sounds uncharacteristically shocked._

_Pierre’s feet have taken him the short distance from the kitchen to the entrance way. He doesn’t bother with an answer, the open door says as much as it needs to. Once the door softly clicks shut, Pierre lets out a shaky breath he was holding. _

_The flat once filled with the sounds of protestations is silent and as he stands with his back against the door, he can only wonder what will happen now._

§

Six months later on an otherwise quiet evening, is when everything starts. 

Six months later after going so long without even so much as a word said between them. 

“This arrived for you while you were out. The person who left it was very insistent that you receive it as soon as possible, regardless if you said no or not. He said it was important.” The desk attendant hands him the package with no hesitation yet with a careful air about the whole situation. Something about this whole situation seems highly suspect, and Pierre contemplates saying no without undoing the brown paper wrapping to see what lays beneath. But curiosity gets the better of him, telling him that maybe he should think twice. That maybe he should think this one through instead of letting emotions get the best of him. 

“Thank you.” Pierre has walked almost towards the hallway and the elevators beyond before he turns around again. 

“Did he say anything else?” 

“Only that he was sorry.” A knowing smile accompanies the desk attendant’s words.  
_He always is,_ Pierre thinks to himself as the elevator arrives on his floor and the doors open to a quiet corridor.

Once in the quiet calm of his flat, he strikes up the nerve to open the package which was temporarily relegated to the coffee table in the time it took him to cook dinner and finish cleaning after. It really is now or never.

Pierre carefully breaks the seal with a shaky hand and after peeling the paper back has to hold back a gasp. 

The drawing is a mere study, nothing more than a tool used by an artist to plan out his thoughts for an undoubtedly more important work. 

And yet, Pierre finds himself unable to look away from the elegant little ballerina at the barre long after he hangs the picture over his mantle. 

§

The whole room is flooded with bright mid afternoon light, smelling of garlic and the assorted herbs that went into the pasta Pierre cooked for lunch on the occasion of the last day of his mother’s visit from Paris. A comfortable silence has come over them and yet something else looms in the air with it. 

A curiosity.

A thought.

For a few minutes over the course of their lunch at least, his mother’s eyes have not left the painting on the wall behind him, bathed in the glow of sunlight. The shade blues and white of an idyllic French countryside sky. Even lighter shades mixed with dashes of deep greens and browns. As Pierre turns his attention back to the bowl of pasta in front of him, his mother speaks. 

“It’s quite funny,” Her voice is gentle and unchallenging as it always is. “I would not be so mesmerized by that delightful little Sisley on your wall if it wasn’t for the conversation I had last week with Charles’s mother over the phone.” She lets the fork rest against the rim of the bowl in order to turn her attention to the deep red contents of her wine glass. “She mentioned that Charles made a trip to New York two weeks ago and came back with a little Impressionist work of a flooded countryside street, and that he said it wasn’t for the gallery. Now, it’s found a place here.”

“Mom, please don’t-“

“Pierre, it’s perfectly alright. You should know he spent a pretty penny on it because he absolutely adores you.” 

Something inside of Pierre that still harbors closely held feelings of betrayal deflates. Her words stick in his thoughts long after his mother leaves his flat for the airport and her flight back home.

Her words stick in his thoughts as he reaches for his phone to return phone calls that went unanswered. 

§

“You really didn’t have to do this. The Sisley was more than enough.” Pierre stands in his bedroom, arms crossed yet his tone of voice gives away his concealed excitement as he attempts to fend off a smile that threatens to find its way to his face.

The painting before him is as awkward as anything cut from a larger work could be, and yet there is an immense beauty about it. 

The kind of beauty evoked in scenes of lily ponds shaded by large groupings of trees in a garden.

The kind of beauty admired en masse in museums around the world, not in the private rooms of homes.

“I wanted to do this.” Charles whispers as he wraps his arms around Pierre from behind, keeping him close as they stand cheek to cheek. He makes no effort to hide his own smile. “I saw it, and immediately thought about you. It was perfect.” 

There is a soft press of lips to Pierre’s temple. 

Things feel a little more bright than they did before.

**Author's Note:**

> Hortensius is a Latin word that means of or belonging to a garden, referencing the last painting which Charles gives to Pierre. The three works of art are all real, and were sold by Sotheby’s in New York in the last two years. The drawing first mentioned is by Degas and is titled _Danseuse à la Barre_, the painting mentioned second is by Alfred Sisley titled _L’Inondation à Port-Marly, route de Saint-Germain_. Lastly, the painting of the Water Lilies is by Claude Monet. In the auction catalogue it was listed as a fragment and was indeed part of a larger work at one point. Monet was known to cut off certain parts of his works according to a book I read a while back called Mad Enchantment.


End file.
